


The Value of Trust

by alterai



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mild D/S undertones, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7182362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alterai/pseuds/alterai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's been a long day without you, my friend / And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again. / We've come a long way from where we began / Oh, I'll tell you all about it when I see you again.</i>
</p><p>Havana, Cuba. 1998.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Value of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Summary from Wiz Khalifa's See You Again

The heat was getting to him.

It was noon and the sun had settled high overhead. Waves of heat bore down viciously and mingled with the heavy humidity in the air. A thin drop of sweat trickled down the bridge of his nose, and Red shook it off irritatedly. Havana in mid-summer. What had he been thinking?

The heat was worse here at the market. The crowd pressed up against him from all sides as he tried to navigate the cramped stalls. Narrow storefronts lined the ground floors of the buildings along the avenue, splashes of pastels up on the walls. Occasional shouts from harried vendors and buyers rose over the clamor of conversation. 

A cluster of people had gathered just up ahead, slow congelation of traffic around what appeared to be a half-dozen food stands, if he wasn’t mistaken. He could smell the meat cooking from here, liberally dosed with spices, flame-char clinging to the smoke in the air, and the sound of dough sizzling in vats of hot oil. 

Red resigned himself to moving slowly with the ebb of the crowd. Earlier, he’d tried to squeeze his way past a similarly dispersed group and had only received a carelessly placed elbow in the ribs during the jostle. It was therefore some time before he was able to reach the particular shop he had been searching for. 

Standing outside, he stared warily at the patterned blue and gold drapes that decorated the windows of the tiny storefront. The colors were not quite as he remembered from the last visit, and he hesitated to enter. The patterns, though, still looked familiar enough to him, so after a moment of deliberation he shrugged to himself and went in.

An eclectic collection of beaded necklaces hung right in the entryway. Ducking past them, Red was faced with the shelves that lined the walls inside, filled with bronzed relics and various trinkets, alongside carved wooden boxes of fine cigars. The young vendor looked up from where he was wiping down the counter at the back, face immediately brightening as he recognized his customer. 

“Raymond!” He called to him and hurried over, a huge grin spreading across his face. “¿Qué tal?”

“Hello, Edmundo,” Red smiled back in greeting, slightly relieved to find the other man where he remembered him. He returned the other man’s enthusiastic handshake in kind. 

“¿Qué te trae aquí?” Edmundo asked him as he walked him over to a display of painted vases.

Red picked one up, admiring the intricate designs etched over the surface of it. He spoke quietly with the other man as he examined the vase, trading information over the pretense of looking over the goods, if anyone had cared to watch them. 

Edmundo rattled off a steady stream of names and sightings from memory and Red nodded as he filed away relevant information. One mention in particular perked his interest and he made a note to get in touch with the guard at the private airfield not too far from the harbor. He had in storage several boxes of sensitive content he needed moved, and a bribe to one of the pilots would not go amiss there. 

He paid, inquiring after the other man’s family as he waited patiently for Edmundo to pack up the souvenir for him. The clerk had taken it upon himself to slip a polished box of Cubans in with his purchase, and that was just one reason he was partial to doing business with the man. 

Stepping out from under the shade of the small store, he regretted it immediately. The back of his neck stung from the the sunburn he'd sustained earlier. His shirt was soaked with sweat and clung to him uncomfortably while the jacket suffocated him slowly, but it provided extra coverage for the firearms he carried. It had seemed prudent to opt for heavier armament today.

The op they ran last night could be termed successful, even on the basis of the limited intel they’d received, but it had put local authorities on high alert. He’d seen to the travel arrangements separately for his team to avoid drawing attention to a larger group of foreigners traveling together, and they should be well on their way out of the country by now.

He still had a few remaining contacts in the area to see to. Edumundo would be his last touch point of the day, but he would be out again later in the evening to meet with some of the others. It would give him a few hours to lay low until it was late enough that it no longer felt like the sun was taking the skin off his neck. 

Red wandered over to a break in between the two-story complexes that lined the narrow, unevenly-paved streets, glad for the break from the heat out in the open. He made himself comfortable against one wall. The concrete dug hard into his shoulder, but he could appreciate that it was a marginally cooler temperature than the rest of his surroundings. From here he had a clear view of the building just a little ways ahead and across the street, where he’d taken up a room last week. It was situated right above a small cafe, and at this time of the day a steady stream of customers entered and left at intervals. 

A group of rowdy teenagers tumbled past the small alleyway as he watched, kicking up dust as they trailed after a tattered soccer ball. He tracked his gaze past them to the crowd behind. There was an easy rhythm to it, the routine of people watching. It could almost be said to be...well, calming wasn’t exactly the right word for it, but he liked the anonymity of the crowd. 

When he was satisfied that he hadn't picked up a tail on the way back, Red left the shadows of the alley and hurried toward the entrance across the street. It was a relief to be met with damp silence inside the building. The door banged hollowly as it shut behind him, and he took the stairs up at a slight run. There were no lights inside the old building, just bursts of natural lighting from the narrow windows set unevenly in the walls. 

He took a few seconds to complete his usual checks outside the room. As soon as he was inside, Red dropped his jacket and headed straight for the fan in the corner. It started with a rusty creak, swiveling around choppily on the aged stand. Although he could barely feel the breeze once he’d walked more than a few feet away, it was something at least. 

He laid his weapons out on the table and went to grab a can of cheap beer from the dusty stash in the corner, left behind by the previous tenant. The stale taste made him grimace as it chased a day’s worth of grime down his throat. He’d left a thin sheaf of paper stacked out of sight behind an old cupboard. He went to it now and pulled out the battered manila folder, tossing it onto the table.

Lifting the first few sheets that had slid out and rifling through them, Red sat down and regarded the pages of schematics and lists with mild distaste. 

There was more intel he’d add from today - the name of an arms dealer based out of Cairo, where he’d been tracking the latest shipments across the Mediterranean. The cargo manifest from the  _ Mariel _ , outbound out of Cienfuegos and scheduled to dock again within two weeks time. It was nothing much. Bits and pieces here and there. Just scraps, really. He’d commit them to memory later and destroy the pages but it was easier this way to look for what he needed.

After half an hour of sorting through the data, his hand started to cramp and Red dropped the pen. Slumping back in his chair, he rubbed at his eyes. The notes spread out in front of him ran untidily from one page to the next, barely a sketch of a blueprint, if he could even call it that. But it escaped him at the present, how to thread it all in place. 

A frustrated sigh tore through him and it took concentrated effort to not crumple up the pages of notes. His fingers had clenched reflexively, the first page already crinkling, and he smoothed it out with a frown on his face. Ten years. Ten solidly ugly years and nothing to come of it. Paper trails. Blood on his hands, and what amounted to a criminal empire that had netted him more enemies than he cared to count. He had never wanted this. 

Red took another drink from the almost empty can. The fan droned on in the background, and between the heat and noise it was possible that he was going a little mad. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and picked up the the pen again.

The sudden knock at the door came just moments later. Startled, Red stood, listening intently, but there were no other sounds forthcoming. He picked up the weapons from the table, shoved one gun into its customary holster and kept the other in hand as he started toward the door. 

As he slid the safety off, a rush of adrenaline hit him. This, he understood. Heart thumping too loudly in his chest, Red considered for a moment the crumbling balcony outside the window. There was an exit route out the back, where he could lose himself across the shingled rooftops and network of alleyways that formed the backbone of the city. 

It could be nothing. Maybe just the shop owner from downstairs with whom he’d made arrangements for the room. One of his rarely seen neighbors. But there’s too many unknowns there, and he couldn’t stand not ascertaining a potential threat. If someone had found him here of all places? 

Steadying his gun, Red moved behind the door and listened for movements from the other side again, one finger tapping uneasily alongside the barrel of the pistol, almost tempted to just shoot first and ask questions after the fact, though that could be inadvisable for several reasons. 

He cracked the door open, tense, poised to shove the muzzle of the weapon through the narrow opening and squeeze out a few rounds, and froze when he saw who it was. Stared at Dembe standing outside for a full second before coming to his senses.

“What are you doing?” He demanded as he hauled the other man inside. 

Dembe just shrugged at him, despite having clearly disregarded Red’s earlier instructions to get out of the country as soon as possible, though he at least had the decency to look sheepish about it. Red shut the door behind him and slid the deadbolt across the frame.  

“I thought you and Adriana were supposed to be on the flight out this morning,” He said, turning to the other man, concern drawing a slight scowl on his face.  He was glad to see him, but Dembe shouldn’t be here. This was dangerous for them both. 

Dembe ducked his head at the slightly disappointed look Red had pinned him with. “I wanted to see you,” He frowned. “It’s been a year, Raymond.”

Red didn’t miss the mild reproach in his voice. He was right, of course. The last few days aside, the last time they had seen each other had been many months ago. With all the work that had gone into setup the past few days and his team spread out across the city, they had regretfully not found the time to exchange more than a few words.

Dembe walked over, close enough now to reach down for the gun Red had forgotten was still in his hand. Red let him slip the weapon from his grasp, flexing his hand at the absence of the familiar weight. And that said more than he’d liked, that he was more comfortable with a gun in his hand than without, even if it was only Dembe here. He watched as Dembe placed it back on the table, pushed it away slightly, metal clatter echoing across the tabletop. 

“I’m sorry,” Red stopped him when he turned back. He moved his hand up to clasp Dembe’s neck, drew him into a hug. Dembe returned this unreservedly, as he always did.

“I was just worried, is all,” He rested his cheek against Dembe’s.

“It’s all right, Raymond. I know.” Dembe turned his head, slowly, until he brushed against Red’s lips. It reached someplace deep inside him, and he almost pulled away because of it. He was cracking at the seams, slowly splintering apart, and it wouldn’t surprise him if Dembe could see that in him too. 

Dembe turned them and crowded Red back against the table, leaned in to kiss him again, hard. 

When they broke to catch their breaths, Dembe rested his forehead against Red’s, breathing heavily, closed his eyes briefly before he spoke. “I missed you,” He told Red. 

The simple honesty of that statement hit him hard. There were very few people left who could still say that to him and mean it. 

Hands slid under his shirt and Red’s eyes closed a fraction at the contact of skin, the callouses on the other man’s palm rough against the scarred expanse of his back. He let Dembe pull his shirt off, welcomed the cool breeze of the fan behind them on sweat-dampened skin; he reached forward to tug the other man’s shirt off as well, once Dembe had shed his jacket. 

When Dembe pressed forward again so he could slot a knee in between Red’s legs, he bit off a groan and braced a hand on the table behind them to get additional leverage, one hand tightening on the other man’s arm as Dembe leaned in, kissing a line along the length of his throat. 

A careless swipe sent the folder he’d been working on earlier tumbling to the floor and spilling its contents. He spared it barely a glance, not caring, but Dembe had pulled away at the sudden rustle of papers, distracted. 

Red could tell the exact moment he marked the pages of hand-drawn notes for what they were. He made no move to dissuade his scrutiny. It was far from the first time Dembe had seen these, but he wondered if after all the years of dead ends Dembe thought he was chasing after some fool’s quest. It certainly was starting to seem that way to him, anyway. 

After a moment, he went to retrieve the folder from the floor. Dembe knelt down next to him to gather up the remaining papers, taking the folder from him and placing the page back inside with care before returning it to the table. 

Red went to sit on the old mattress in the corner with his back to the wall, and was treated to an unobstructed view as Dembe finished undressing. Dembe was pulling his boots off with one hand against the table for balance, the faint ripple of muscles across his back evident as he worked the laces. He pulled off his pants and was setting them aside when he glanced up to find Red watching appreciatively, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he walked over. 

The old mattress protested with a creak as Dembe joined him. He settled himself right above Red, one hand braced against the wall and the other sliding up to curl through his hair. Red has kept it a little longer than usual, ostensibly for the little extra protection it offered from the sun. Really though, it was the perfect length for Dembe to tug at, and he does this now, exerting gentle pressure as Red tipped his head back. 

He caught Dembe swallowing as he focused on the exposed line of his throat. A hand skimmed down his chest, heat from the palm of the other’s hand warm along the points of contact, and Red closed his eyes to the sensation. Some of the restless energy from earlier seemed to have had dissipated and left only a tentative calm in its wake. It felt almost foreign after the last few months, almost forgotten entirely.  Dembe reached down to palm him through the rough material of his jeans and he arched into the touch with a soft groan. 

It was difficult to find the words to describe their relationship, so much has changed since the start. When he had first approached Red for this more than four years ago, Dembe had barbed edges then - a few years out of college but still angry with the world at large, brimming with cutting words and an undercurrent of violence under the surface; at once sharp and brittle, like shards of broken glass. Red had been afraid of losing him to that. Had enough presence of mind to see that Dembe would need an outlet for the quiet rage that hounded him, or he’d find one himself. 

Truth be told, he’d been no more qualified himself to make sound decisions at that point. Struggling under the weight of what he’d become involved in, he’d managed to find a stability of sorts in interdependencies, the minute shifts of trust in the subtle exchanges of control. Trust had been the only thing that had mattered anymore. 

He slid his hands down to the bands of Dembe’s briefs, pulled down this last layer; he was hard already, the head of his cock slick with pre-cum. Red rubbed a finger over the slit, causing the other man to push forward with a small gasp. He wrapped a hand firmly along the length, and tugged, drew a ragged groan from Dembe.  For a few minutes they stayed like that, lost briefly to lust, grinding against each other, rough and a little desperate, no finesse at all. 

Dembe finally broke away with a sharp intake of breath, pupils blown wide as he stared down at him. “Fuck, Raymond,” he said, panting slightly, “I want --” 

He angled his hips and let Dembe pull off his pants, and boxers, then the other man was back atop him, weight pressing him down to the mattress. It didn’t feel the way it could have -   unnervingly claustrophobic, trapped even - as it would have had it been anyone else. Dembe had always been the exception. 

Dembe bent his head to nuzzle along the line of his collarbone, a rush of warm breath against his skin accompanied by an occasional nip of teeth. Red skimmed a hand up the broad back. When he reached the old scar there on Dembe’s shoulder he felt the other man shudder at his touch.

“Ramond --” His name was said with a small gasp, an almost choked sound that cut deep. Red reached up to touch the side of Dembe’s face. 

_ All right? _

Dembe nodded against his hand, face turned slightly into his touch. He leaned in to catch Red in another brief kiss before pulling away and settling between his legs. Red lay still, flushing a bit under the other’s assessing gaze, but indulged in the slow course of heat that continued to build up under his skin.

He nearly protested when Dembe started to move away, but it was only to lean over the side of the bed to grab his pants, turning up a small tube of lubricant from one pocket. Red couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him when he saw what Dembe had retrieved. 

“You, my dear friend, seem remarkably well prepared,” he pointed out, amusement threaded through his voice. He slid one arm under the pillow, stretching out until he took up the expanse of the bed, room enough for Dembe in between the sprawl of his legs.

“Hmm,” was all Dembe said to that but he chuckled quietly as he leaned in to suck a bite mark onto the skin of his inner thigh, a move that made Red dig his fingers into the sheets. Red ran a hand fondly over the back of the other’s head, finding the place at the base of his neck where he could trace the curves of his spine. Pushing up into Red’s touch, Dembe positioned himself right above Red’s cock, his nose almost nudging the base of his erection. He met his eyes with slow deliberation, then bent forward to lick a long swipe up the length of his cock. 

A low noise escaped his throat, and Red let his head drop back down to the pillow. Dembe bent his head and took Red into his mouth at the same as he pushed one finger into him, slicked with lube, and his mind stuttered briefly at the dual contact. Dembe drew his hand slowly back, fingers circling his entrance, rubbing against the sensitive perineum and drawing long shuddering reactions from him.

He pushed upwards, seeking increased contact, but Dembe moved with him and pulled back too, until his lips barely grazed the tip of his cock. Red dropped back to the bed with a frustrated groan, staying still with effort as Dembe tongued the slit and watched him with a roguish gleam in his eyes, knowing full well what he was doing to him. 

Dembe sucked again at the tip of his cock, pressed fingers back inside him. Having abandoned a briefly futile attempt at keeping his breathing even, Red closed his eyes and just focused on the sensations as Dembe stretched him leisurely, each time rubbing up against the blindly pleasuring spot inside him until his cock was achingly hard. As it were, he barely registered the affectionate pat to the back of his thighs.

Taking the hint, Red twisted so he could push up onto his knees. A hand in between his shoulder blades pressing down, gentle, and he followed it easily, bending until he could press his head to the pillow. There were few people he could trust to have him at a disadvantage, but here with Dembe, he found it to be an acceptable vulnerability. 

Dembe rubbed at the curve of his hips, as if he were a skittish colt that needed to be calmed, and he had to chuckle at the thought. Hardly, though he could feel Dembe mirror his amusement. 

“What is it?” Dembe asked. 

“Ah, just -” He breathed again, finding his voice, “Just a stray thought.”

 Dembe entered him slowly, mindful that he hadn’t spent as much time preparing him as he would have liked to. But Red wanted the low burn, just bordering on pain. He focused on it now as Dembe pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again, a slow slide that caused him to rock his hips back. 

When Dembe bottomed out inside him he reached around and wrapped his hand around the length of Red’s erection. The pre-cum that had dribbled down provided additional lubricant for the slick glide of the other’s hand against his cock. 

He bit down on his lips hard when Dembe closed his fingers firmly around the base of his erection, holding him in place and stilling the movement of his hips. 

Heavy breathing filled the silence as they both exerted an effort to hold the position, neither moving. Red exhaled slowly. It seemed quieter somehow, in his head; the extraneous chatter that ordinarily cluttered his thoughts had retreated to the distant background. A year away, and he’d nearly forgotten this, forgotten that Dember could do this for him. It no longer felt that he was just going through the motions. Just felt much too human, and that was something else he owed the other man, and he’d long lost track of the tally. 

Dembe held them still just long enough that Red’s arms were starting to shake slightly. He moved his other hand from where it rested on the jut of Red’s hip to lightly brush his palm over the flushed head of Red’s cock, and then it was his fingers. 

A strangled whimper escaped from between his teeth at the touch and Red let his head drop. His hair was matted with sweat and he shook it out of his eyes as he sucked in air. A low shiver shot through him as Dembe’s thumb traced lazy circles across the head of his cock.  When he started moving again, Red pushed back to meet his thrusts; hard, even strokes, strength that was restrained, careful. Each calculated thrust managing to brush against his prostate and taking him close to the brink. 

He clenched down around the other man as he pushed in again, and a quiet groan slipped from Dembe, bent low almost atop him, breath harsh from effort of holding them still again for the few seconds it took to collect himself, before his next thrust pushed them both forward so hard that Red almost cracked his head against the wall, had he not shot a hand out to steady them. He kept it against the wall now as Dembe held up the rougher rhythm, both of them close.  

Dembe tightened the hand around his cock and a rough shout spilled from his throat as he came, the release almost a surprise, He sank helplessly under the sudden rush - endorphins and a mix of sensations rolling across him in full-bodied shivers. He felt it when Dembe came as well, a flush of heat within him as he rode out the orgasm.  

Dembe pulled them both upright, one arm circling around his chest to hold him up as he continued to stroke him leisurely through the aftermath of his orgasm. Red shuddered at the prolonged contact and dug his his fingers into Dembe’s thigh, oversensitized.

Dembe stopped before it got to be painful, and Red slumped back against the other man’s chest, breathing heavily. Focused on the heat of the other’s skin, attuned himself again to Dembe's presence, on the fact that Dembe was simply..there. That was a measure hard to quantify. 

After a few minutes, Dembe turned his head, his lips warm as they brushed against his temple. Dembe unwound his arm and disentangled himself carefully before sliding down towards the lumpy mattress with an exhausted sigh, eyes already closing. 

Red stretched out next to him, turning his head to watch the other man sleep. He had looked tired even when Red first saw him a few days ago. He frowned to himself, wondering if insomnia had been bothering the other man again. That was not an uncommon occurrence for either of them. 

He lay still, limbs loose, feeling what seemed like days of tension slowly bleeding from him, relaxing in increments until sleep eventually dragged him down. 

* * *

It was hours later when he woke. Red blinked slowly, feeling a little out of sorts as he studied the room groggily. He couldn’t quite recall how long it’s been since he’d last slept deeply enough that he hadn’t been able to muster complete alertness immediately upon waking. 

It was a bit too hot for prolonged skin contact, but he was loathe to move, with Dembe close behind him still fast asleep. The fan in the corner was still going, but sputtering a little now, overheated. He lingered a while longer, drifting in and out of sleep, before finally sliding out from under Dembe’s arm to shut off the fan. He needed it to keep working for the few days he was still going to be here.  

Dembe had stirred when he moved, murmured something unintelligible but did not seem, on the whole, inclined to wake up. Red wandered over to the window and cracked open the shutters to let in the cooler evening air. Jumbled noises rose up at him from the streets below; the rumble of mopeds speeding past, obnoxious honks from impatient drivers mingling with the bustle of the evening market. Cities came alive at night, and this one was no different. 

He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders uneasily. He should get going. Make the rounds, find his remaining contacts. He didn’t have many days left in the city.  The restlessness had started again, something like an itch under the skin. 

When he turned back he was not at all surprised to find Dembe awake and sitting up, back to the wall and watching him carefully. He met the other man’s eyes, flinched slightly from the calm truth he saw there. Dembe always could read him like an open book. 

“Did you find anything?” Dembe asked.

Red shrugged vaguely in the direction of the table where the notes from earlier had landed. Plenty he could make use of. Nothing of what he was really after. The narrative hasn’t changed from the last few times Dembe had asked him this. 

But the question reminded him of something. He went to the table and shuffled papers until he found the backup dossiers he’d put together before the trip - travel contingencies, cover identities. Plan B, in case any of them had needed a secondary travel option. It had been risky for Dembe to come here instead of flying out earlier as arranged, but Red understood the choice, was grateful Dembe had made that decision.

Checking over the details a last time, he spoke over his shoulder, “There’s a flight to Amman at 10:00 tomorrow. A transfer to Khartoum from there.” Dembe was headed back to the Sudanese region, where he’d again be embroiled in the unpredictable political conflicts of the area, and he can’t say he much liked that either. 

Walking over back to the bed, Red sat down on the edge, stared out the window where the sunset was just creeping across the rooftops.  

“Be careful, will you?

Dembe reached for him then, a light touch on his back. “Of course.” He moved to sit next to Red, shoulders touching. “If you’re going back out tonight, I’m coming with you.”

Red considered this as he leaned into Dembe’s shoulder, still feeling tired despite the hours they’d slept.  “No,” he said finally, turning to him. “Let’s just stay.”

Dembe hummed an affirmative. He leaned in to kiss him again and Red let the weight of Dembe’s body bear him down. 

“That’s not altogether a terrible plan.” Dembe’s smile curved against his lips and there was nothing at all disagreeable about that. 


End file.
